THE GLADSTONE BAIT.
"As regards Home Rule for Ireland, I may say I am prepared to go as far as Mr. Gladstone's own words warrant," &c., &c.—Times, Nov. 9.
Joe, the Incomplete Angler (to himself), "I think I'll catch 'em with this!"
The Incomplete Angler singeth:—
It was all very well, when afar from the "swim,"
With tackle unready, and plans rather dim,
To go in for splashes and plunges.
I am not quite assured. How the papers did yell
At my whirls, and my whisks, and wild lunges!
But now, on the spot, with the fish all about,
The Waltonian rôle, there is not the least doubt,
Befits a diplomatist Angler.
I must not dance war-dances, shy heavy stones,
Or talk in the strident stentorian tones
Of a partisan public-house wrangler.
I frighten the fish with my shindy? No, no!
I will show there's a fisherman's tact about Joe.
I make a fiasco? No, thankee!
I'll be as discreet as Piscator could wish,
In a style will enchant the Canadian fish,
And utterly ravish the Yankee.
But now, as to bait? Well, ahem!—yes, I fear,
The Gladstonian minnow is popular here,—
It's a bait I abominate wholly.
And yet—if I fish as I fancy—I feel
I perhaps may go home with no fish in my creel,—
And that would be most melancholy!
I am sure my own patent assortment of flies
Ought to make any fish in the universe rise;
My spoon-bait is terribly killing
In some Irish waters. But here,—well, my hook
Must be hidden with something from Hawarden's old book,
Though to use it I own I'm unwilling.
Ha! ha! Yes, I have it. I've made up a bait
That some will think Old, and that some will think Great,
And all will deem Grand—if it nicks 'em.
It's green—shot with orange; the fins have a look
Of a pair of big collars. Great Scott, what a hook!
Yes, this, I am certain, must fix 'em.
It is—and it isn't—the very same bait
That the Nottingham fellows—as anglers so great—
Consider the pink of perfection.
Why, William himself might well capture a dish
With this bait; did he use it, I'm sure, not a fish
Would so much as think of rejection.
Now, my Starred-and-striped beauties! Canadian pets!
Crossed-Irish, so doubtful of hooks and of nets!
I drop it in—so! Won't it rummage 'em?
Some sneer at my angling. How savage they'll be
When the secret of my great success they will see
Is Gladstonian bait—à la Brummagem!
[Left winding and winking.
By George!—A first-rate speech was made by the new Patent Commander-in-Chief George Ranger, Duke of Cambridge, at the dinner of Volunteer Sergeants, Justice Cotton,—Gun-Cotton on this occasion—in the Chair. "I have always stated," said the Brave old Chief, "that the best way to avoid war, is to be so strong that nobody would think of attacking you." Hear! Hear! F. M. Punch likes this sort of strong language from George Ranger, and hopes that His Royal Highness will be made Patent President of the International Arbitration Court.
